“No, it wasn’t Melissa. And the sessionwasstrictly professional,” I insist, but even to my ears, it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself more than Dylan.
“Sure, Adam. Okay,” he chides, his tone playful yet a little too knowing for my liking. “But you don’t have to convince me. What you do with your dick is your business. I just want to know if whatever transpired was any good.” He wiggles his eyebrows, but his tone turns serious. “But just remember, if you ever need to talk about anything—professional or not—I’m here for you, bro.”
I nod, appreciating his offer and ignoring the slight innuendo there. “Thanks, Dylan. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Anytime,” he says with more eyebrow wiggles. “Now go show those weights who’s boss. And maybe think about setting some boundaries with Jillian. For your sanity, man.”
I chuckle, though the thought lingers uncomfortably in my mind. “Yeah, I think you’re right there.”
The question is how?
As I stand to leave, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Pulling it out, I see a notification for a new Instagram post tagged at the gym.
Curiosity piqued, I open the app. And as luck would have it, it’s a picture of Carlie and me in a yoga pose. Our bodies are pressed far closer than I remembered.
The caption reads:“New training methods at St. Mary’s? Where do I sign up?”with a couple of suggestive emojis behind it.
I don’t know the account, or who posted it, and by the looks of it, they’re not exactly a gym rat.
My heart sinks.
“Something up?” Dylan asks, noticing the change in my demeanor.
I show him the post. “This is what Jillian was talking about. I was just tagged.”
Dylan whistles. “That looks …intimate, man. Can see why Jillian flipped. Who posted it?”
I lock my phone, my mood soured. “No idea. But I need to sort this out before it blows up.”
“Good luck, man. And remember, keep it professional,” Dylan says with a teasing smile, but his eyes are sympathetic.
“Always do,” I reply, though my thoughts are already racing.
How am I going to explain this to Carlie? What if she sees this and thinks I crossed a line last night? Is that why she’s not here today?
Stepping out of the coffee shop, I decide to head back to the gym.
I need to track down whoever posted this and clear the air.
Then, I need to talk to Carlie. I need to make sure she knows that whatever that photo suggests, it wasn’t my intention to make her uncomfortable—or a target for the gossip mill.
This isn’t just about the gym’s reputation—though I’m sure Jillian will try to make it that way to ease the scrutiny on her.
No, this is about Carlie, and how much I don’t want this to change her perception of the gym—or me.
CHAPTER10
Carlie
Istumble into Dirty Books, Tasia’s unique bookstore, and the unofficial sanctuary for my kind—bookworms with a penchant for pinot and smut.
Clutching a couple of bottles of wine to my chest like a lifeline, because my legs are still screaming bloody murder, I’m fashionably late to the Dirty B’s book club—or as I like to call it, my weekly reality check with a side of sarcasm.
I make my way to our alcove, a place now likened to a haven of literary chaos. Tasia smiles broadly, sitting in a brand new dark burgundy wingback chair—one of three, by the looks of it.
Excellent, no more horrifying metallic fold-out chairs to contend with. I don’t think my ass could take it—definitely not while it already feels like it’s being shredded apart from my ill attempts at getting fit.